[center][b]Grimri "Ironclad" Haldengard[/b][/center]

The cultist screamed in horror and pain, one hand toying with the idea of clutching at the stump of his leg as the other waved about frantically, reaching for something, anything, to keep him up as he fell over like a tree. Grimri watched the blood spurt and trickle out of the leg, fascinated as always at how well the human body was able to be cut up. The screaming was annoying, however. Grimri flipped his shotgun, its butt the bloodied axehead that bisected the man's leg, now sent down in a terrible arc to behead the man, silencing his cries forever. 

"Bloody Chaos Scum" Grimri spat, a healthy ball of pghlem hitting the dead man's forehead. "Waking me up from me nap!" He pumped his shotgun, pressed the barrel into the chest of the headless corpse, and blew a hole as wide as Grimri's arm into it. One could never be too careful with the powers of the warp. Lose the head, lose the heart.

The squat raced off up the corridor, barreling past a scared crewman hiding in the corner, a yellow puddle of piss under his trousers. He received the communications from that Genetor Dahti, thankful for the help in what direction to go to. The enginarium was as good a place as any, and so he moved like a cannon ball, knocking aside fearful crewmen and gunning down anyone who looked at him like he was a threat. It wasn't until he smelled the sour smell of gas did he skid to a stop outside of the sanctum. 

His skin crawled, Grimri recognizing the agent as indigo gas. Most men couldn't take it, and even a squat had a hard time tanking the deadly biological weapon, but by the time he had arrived, the agent had thinned somewhat. As long as he did not breath the substance, he would only have some superficial burns and scars across his leather-like skin. 

He reached inside his satchel and retrieved a rebreather mask, hiding his grim features behind dark plasteel, the sound of the purifying air filtering into the mouthpiece was a low thrum of mechanical ingenuity. Squats could take poisons most men couldn't, but it paid to be careful, and these contraptions were standard issue for miners on the asteroids. One never knew what sort of pockets of unknowable substances and gas lay within veins of minerals. 

He didn't wait, stepping into the fog and squinting his eyes, using his low-visiblity vision to see shadows normally undetectable, imperfections in the steel impossible to see without specialized goggles, ears picking up any sounds of movement. From the door, one would hear the explosive discharge of his firearm and flashes of light as he found chaos-zealots donning rebreathers of their own, and air-tight suits for void-repairs, armed with laspistols and crowbars. They had wild eyes and enraged faces of zealous warp-infused indoctrination. 

It served them very little against the veteran warrior. 

A raised pipe of steel whipped at Grimri with the speed of a striking snake. Grimri ducked flung the end of his gun's butt into the man's groin, the axeblade biting into his body with the force of a terran bull. He squealed and froze in shock, Grimri pulling the trigger of his shotgun, the barrel pointing behind the squat. The slug ripped into a cultist that had attempted to backstab him, ending the man's life by making an exit would twice the size of a man's fist through where his liver used to reside. Laughing uproariously, Grimri punched into the knee of another cultist as he tried to round his comrade, cracking the bone. It took only a minute for him to finish the small group off before delving lower, looking for more prey.